36~White Lotus Thread
“Eleven goblin claws, seven crudely made goblin axes as proof of wiping out a goblin nest.” Dillin, hunched over his desk with a quill in hand, glanced at the war spoils from Ruglien, meticulously reporting each item. These spoils would serve as sufficient proof of mission completion.
Beyond the physical evidence, an analysis of the experiences and insights gained from the adventure was required.
And this was Dillin’s forte; no one else could do it better. Still, the report couldn’t be all fluff—some substance was necessary. Luckily, after encountering life-threatening moments twice, there’d be plenty to write about.
The two trips to Ruglien proved fruitful but at some expense. Poor Wenfu—cats are skittish and timid creatures. Perhaps the first encounter spooked the girl, causing her to develop a natural aversion to Ruglien and the Demon Race.
Last night, upon returning to her room and opening the door to enjoy a breeze before sleeping, she was greeted by a tiny, pink-eared feline standing hesitantly outside her door, holding a pillow, uncertain whether to knock or not.
Surprised by Wenfu’s presence, the sight of her pink ears and snow-white paws tangled together was nothing short of adorable. She wanted to say something but struggled, her embarrassment manifesting as a downturned gaze and drooping ears while standing in silence.
“Is there anything you need, Wenfu?” Tillysha asked softly, pretending she had no clue why her friend had come. She, of course, knew exactly why—the pillow said it all.
Wenfu’s eyes widened in astonishment.
Wasn’t it obvious? She’d brought the pillow, hadn’t she? Wasn’t it the perfect cue for Tillysha to ask if she wanted to sleep over, only to then graciously acquiesce?
Instead, Tillysha’s mischievous smirk gave her game away.
“Well, if there’s nothing, I’ll be going to sleep now,” Tillysha said, feigning innocence as she began to close the door. Wenfu panicked, stammering out her intentions and shooting a glare at Tillysha.
Bad older sister.
Realizing teasing the poor girl too much would only result in retaliation, Tillysha stopped jesting and welcomed Wenfu inside.
The next morning revealed the extent of Wenfu’s clingy nature, curling around Tillysha like an octopus, seeking comfort in the familiarity of a trusted person.
Dillin, finishing his report and storing it in a folder, stretched his slightly stiff back. With less than a month spent since their first journey to Ruglien, the mission had been completed exceptionally.
Next was aiding Princess Filisia in breaking her level constraint.
“Busy from morning until now, you must be tired, Miss Dillin,” Filisia remarked.
“If you’re feeling generous, Miss Filisia, perhaps you could offer me a lick of that ice cream,” Dillin replied without looking up, noticing the ice cream melting on top, about to drip.
“Ah, you mean I should let you s*ck on this ice cream?” Filisia grinned, leaning her elbows on the counter and deliberately sliding the mint ice cream between her lips.
“We’re about to break your level cap, yet you’re still indulging in trivialities,” Dillin quipped, casting a glance at Filisia’s suggestive movements.
Indeed, the princess was up to her usual antics.
Unbothered by the playful taunts, Dillin knew Filisia’s private nicknames for him were just part of her quirky personality.
“Why, where did you find this ice cream? Such selfishness, not bringing any for your team.”
“Sorry, but I think my consideration is quite adequate,” Filisia replied, a seductive smile on her lips as she pulled the ice cream from her mouth, trailing a delicate web of white threads.
“Isn’t this one for the captain?” Filisia offered the melting ice cream to Dillin, emphasizing its personal touch.
Dillin glanced at the saliva-laden treat, finding it strangely more enticing.
“No, thanks,” he said simply, averting his gaze.
“Really? Not interested? It’s specially for you, Dillin.”
“How can I eat something you’ve already tasted?”
“That’s precisely why it’s special—it’s yours.”
Curious about his reaction—or lack thereof—Filisia pressed further with her playful inquiries.
“Curiosity kills the cat,” Dillin deadpanned.
“Let’s not get too philosophical. I’m simply interested in… something.”
“Something you’re implying?”
“You’re so skilled at mimicking a man’s form, but can you truly simulate everything?”
“Perhaps you should stop your probing.”
“Nah, it’s just a thought,” Filisia admitted, straddling the counter beside Dillin, her hands lightly grazing his chest.
“Your touch, voice, and appearance seem too natural—a high-level skill indeed.”
“Are you genuinely interested?”
“Not particularly. It’s just… how perfect can your simulation really be? Can you completely mimic a man’s body?”
“Where’s this curiosity heading?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Really, do I?”
“I assume you know I’m talking about… certain physical responses,” Filisia shrugged, losing interest and leaning back.
“Even if the appearance is perfect, some traits cannot be replicated. You show no natural reaction—a boy’s curiosity would at least peek,” Filisia teased.
“Reactions? Those would make a lecher.”
“Reactions aren’t about being lewd—it’s involuntary, physiological. Even a pure youth will, inadvertently, glance at certain places.”
“The glance can be followed by guilt and redirection; that’s subjective control.”
“You, though well-simulated, aren’t truly male,” Filisia concluded, relieved by this insight.
She had feared that beneath the guise might lie a real man or someone so perfectly mimicked that moral lines could blur.
Dillin paused, tempted to argue but powerless to do so.
“Report completed. Filisia, prepare downstairs; Aistride awaits.”
“Understood. See you later,” Filisia waved, leaving with her ice cream.
It was Dillin’s turn to prepare. Gathering the reports, he ascended to his room, adding embellishments to his disguise before descending as the elf girl.
In the courtyard, Wenfu had prepared the materials for Filisia’s breakthrough, placing them on a small table adorned with a beautifully painted vase depicting a flying dragon.
“What’s the purpose of this vase, Filisia?” Wenfu inquired.
“It’s not a material but a container.”
“Container?”
“Yes. Due to the overwhelming ancient dragon bloodline, we need a unique intermediary step. This pot acts as the vessel,” Filisia explained simplistically.
“Is it valuable?”
“Not overly so. Any enchanted pot with a ‘sturdiness’ enchantment would suffice. Feel free to touch it.”
“Curious. I only needed materials for my breakthrough.”
Exiting, Tillysha wasn’t truly needed, though cautious curiosity brought her out.
“Aistride, it’s all in your hands,” Tillysha said.
“Understood,” Aistride nodded, biting her lip while holding a small kn*fe poised at her forearm above the pot.
Her focus was sharp, the task serious. Failure would mean disaster, albeit unlikely.
“Hey, Aistride…”
“Hmm?” Aistride twitched, startled by the sultry voice near her ear.
Tillysha leaned, whispering two words into her ear. Instantly, Aistride’s usually composed face flushed red.
“I don’t think cutting yourself is necessary. Your choice, though,” Tillysha smirked, walking away.
Aistride hesitated, then resolved to continue.
“Let’s begin.”
Filisia knelt by the table, her realm activated, eyes closing to inspect her body internally. Finding no issues, she opened her eyes, ready to proceed.
Materials floated into the enchanted pot, swirling with magical energy. Aistride watched intently, timing her cut perfectly. The bl**d flowed smoothly into the pot.
All seemed to be going well.
However, unexpectedly, the red hue in the pot faded rapidly, replaced by black-gray swirls.
Aistride’s eyes widened. Black-gray indicated failure.
She’d only seen such failures documented in books, not reality.
Filisia’s expression became strained, understanding the gravity. If her essence and soul were disrupted, they might fragment.
Everything checked out except the final royal bl**d donation.
Could the royal elf bl**d not suffice?
Seeing imminent failure, Tillysha intervened, preventing further bloodletting.
Having observed the situation, she understood the issue.
With a slight backward step, she leaned gracefully, her white lotus thread falling gently into the agitated pot, stabilizing it.
